


After The War

by iamisaac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac





	After The War

_**After The War**_  
Harry Potter  
Ron/Draco  
R  
~7,600 words  
Note: The ending's fairly rubbish but the story's not bad.  
  
  
  
“But – I don't want Malfoy!”  
  
Auror Mungo shrugged. “It's not a case of 'want': he's been assigned to you.”  
  
“Well, what am I supposed to **do** with him?” Ron demanded helplessly.  
  
“Anything you want, I guess.” The Auror glanced dismissively over at Draco Malfoy, who stood, his pale pointed face sullen, his hands cuffed, in the corner of the room. “The Ministry doesn't mind. It just wants these ex-Death-Eaters off its hands. You could use him as a House-Elf – I imagine it'd be good for him to get his hands dirty for once. But it's up to you. You want to treat him as your new best friend, go ahead. You want to starve him in a dungeon, you can do that if you want. The one rule is, you know he's not allowed magic. He's got to live a Muggle life. Other than that, it's all in your hands.”  
  
“Great,” mumbled Ron.  
  
“So,” said Mungo briskly, “it's over to you. Malfoy, meet your new owner.”  
  
He left, and Ron and Draco stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Ron sighed.  
  
“Right. Shall we go home?” Malfoy raised his eyebrows at the word 'home', but nodded grudgingly. Ron went on, “It'll have to be forced Apparition – sorry about that, but with the... anyway, you know why.”  
  
And this was really weird, having a normal sort of conversation with Malfoy. It'd be weird at the best of times, without the fact that Malfoy was now Ron's new... well, pet - or _something_... Ron grabbed Draco's arm, making the handcuffs clank slightly at the movement, and a second later they were standing in the front room of Ron's flat, and Ron still didn't have anything to say. Neither, it seemed, did Draco, to the point at which Ron began to wonder whether he could actually talk these days.  
  
“So,” he said (to be saying something), “here we are.” Then, “Well?”  
  
“Well, what?” Draco asked. There was an element of the Malfoy drawl in his voice, but mostly he sounded empty, as if someone had made an android version of Draco Malfoy and stuck it in Ron's sitting room.  
  
“Oh, you **can** talk,” said Ron, and it was funny: he'd never thought he'd be relieved to hear Malfoy's voice, but he was.  
  
“Apparently;” and the drawl became more evident, and Ron was even glad of that.  
  
“Erm, so, what do we do now?”  
  
Draco fiddled with his handcuffs idly. “How would I know, Weasley? You're my _keeper_.”  
  
There was just enough in the last word to bring Ron to some understanding of the humiliation Draco was feeling. He had a sudden memory of being stuck in the Malfoy cellar – something he hadn't thought about for a while: had tried very hard not to think about, in fact. The feeling of utter helplessness – and fear. Well, at least Draco didn't have to worry about being murdered or tortured. Ron snuck another look at Malfoy, and thought that Draco did not look as if he knew that. Surely – well, yes, he hated Malfoy - but _surely_ Draco didn't think that Ron was going to beat him up? Ron picked on the one thing he felt confident about.  
  
“No, look,” he said, “I can’t be doing with being ‘Weasley’ed every second breath, not in my own house. It was bad enough at school.”  
  
“What then? Mr. Weasley? Sir?”  
  
Ron opened his mouth to say _For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, stop taking the piss,_ because there was no need to be like that about it... when he caught sight of Draco’s face and had the horrified realisation that Malfoy was being serious.  
  
“Ron,” he said stiffly. “My name’s Ron. And for God’s sake let’s get those ruddy handcuffs off. They’re driving me nuts.”  
  
Malfoy mutely held out his hands and Ron said a spell which made the cuffs fall to the ground. Draco poked them gently with his toe.  
  
“Thanks,” he muttered, the word sounding peculiar from Draco Malfoy, of all people.  
  
“Yeah, well…” Ron had never imagined being in a situation as excruciatingly embarrassing as this, and did not quite know what to say. “Er, I’d better show you the bedroom. It’s not much -” his voice died away as he remembered insults that Malfoy had thrown at his parents’ house _The Burrow_ , a place which was veritably palatial in comparison with his flat. The thought blew away some of his discomfort, and as Ron led Draco through into the bedroom, he went on, “There’s your bed.” He indicated the pull out bed on one side of the room. “That’s mine,” he added, nodding at the slightly-less-than-double sized bed on the left.  
  
“We share a room?” Draco asked, uncertainly.  
  
Ron, every irritating thing Draco had ever said coming back to him, snapped. “Look, I know it’s not Malfoy bloody Manor, but I never asked to have you stay. It’s a bed, you sleep on it. You slept in a room with more people at school. I know they were stinking Slytherins and I’m only Ron Weasley, but you’re just going to have to live with it, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Draco was still standing just one step inside the room, but had moved so that he had his back flat against the wall. Ron took another look at him and calmed down. It was difficult to remember that whilst this was still Malfoy, it was someone very different to the pampered over-privileged boy he’d known at Hogwarts. Ron wasn’t sure what had been done to Draco, either by Voldemort or by the Aurors after Voldemort’s fall, but he was getting the strong impression it had not been nice. Draco had always been pale, but the pinched, _petrified_ look had not previously been there. On a closer inspection, Ron realised Draco was shaking slightly; he turned away hastily, pretending not to have noticed.  
  
“Yeah, so,” he went on, addressing the wall in front of him, “I hope you don’t snore, but after years with Neville it won’t matter much. The kitchen’s the other door off the sitting room and if you finish the milk, put it on the list on the fridge so we get some more. I’m going out for a while, but I think… er…” There wasn’t a tactful way to finish the sentence, so Ron was rather grateful when Malfoy finished it for him.  
  
“I’m not allowed out.” His tone was expressionless.  
  
“Er, yeah.” Ron turned back towards him. “Look, I won’t be long, so just… er…”  
  
“Make myself at home?” Draco suggested, his voice still carefully neutral.  
  
“I’ll be back soon,” said Ron, and made his escape.  
  
***  
  
It wasn’t difficult, living with Draco, it was just **weird**.  
  
“I mean,” said Ron to Harry one morning, several weeks later, “it’s like at _The Burrow_ there was the ghoul in the attic, and now there’s Draco Malfoy living in my flat. It’s not like – I mean, he doesn’t **bother** me or anything, he’s just… there.”  
  
“Lucky you,” said Harry, somewhat grimly. “Gin and I have Goyle’s father, and he smells. In fact, now the entire house smells. We’ve ended up warding our bedroom so he can’t get in, but I swear if he doesn’t wash soon I’m going to have to bath him myself.”  
  
Ron snorted. “Rather you than me, mate. Malfoy’s fine – but at least you and Ginny have your own room. I never thought I’d see the day that Draco Malfoy was my room mate.”  
  
He stopped then, because there was in fact one way in which Malfoy was… a disturbance, but Ron felt a curious sense of protectiveness about it (or – though that was too weird to think about - him). By no means every night, but uncomfortably often, Draco would scream in his sleep, thrashing about in pain or terror – Ron was not quite sure which. The first time it happened, Ron had been startled from his own sleep, sitting bold upright in bed and looking over by wandlight at Malfoy. The screaming had been mostly wordless, but occasionally Malfoy would beg “No, please – no…” Ron had gone over and shaken him – “Malfoy! Draco!” - and Draco had opened his eyes wide and clung desperately to him for several confused minutes. Afterwards, when he came to himself, he had been humiliated beyond words, locking himself in the bathroom for the rest of the night until Ron had had to bang on the door and demand entry so that he could shower before work.  
  
He’d thought then that it was a one-off, possibly triggered by the oddness of their situation, but it soon became clear that it was a regular problem. Malfoy’s nightmares occurred again and again; he did not snap out of them until Ron woke him, when Malfoy would invariably grasp hysterically at him, sometimes in silent horror but more often sobbing to the point of sickness. Draco never said anything about it in the morning, and Ron’s only clue so far was the time in which Malfoy, choking on tears, had screamed “Oh, God, he’ll kill him,” following the statement by a whispered “Please, let him die.” Ron thought he had never heard anyone sound so terrified in his life; he had stroked Draco’s head awkwardly, as he’d once done to a younger Ginny after she'd woken from nightmares about avenging and vicious sloths, until Malfoy’s sobs subsided.  
  
Perhaps Harry might have had some answers, but it felt strangely like a betrayal to Ron to think of advertising Malfoy’s weakness, even to Ron’s best friend. Malfoy was – well, he was **Ron’s** problem, no one else’s. And in every other way, Malfoy was surprisingly inoffensive. To start with, it had been rather unnerving to have him there, when Ron was so used to living by himself. He'd just got used to the fact that for once he could pick his nose in the kitchen if he wanted, or have a quick wank in the shower with the bathroom door open - and now he couldn't again. Well, he probably could – it wasn't as if Draco was going to complain, after all. Malfoy was all the more unnerving because of his silence and the big-eyed look of fear Ron caught in his face if he made a sudden movement towards him, or raised his wand. He hadn't complained about **anything** , which was positively unnatural. Ron found himself making comments that he knew would piss Malfoy off, in an attempt to get some sort of response. He'd once seen Draco clench his fists in his lap after he'd insulted his family, but there had never been a word in return. But nonetheless, Ron wasn't going to start acting like Malfoy didn't exist, which meant he was back to shared living once more.  
  
“I don't suppose you can cook?” he asked Draco, fairly early on.  
  
There had been a moment's silence. “I can... try,” Draco offered.  
  
Ron considered Malfoy's upbringing, with House-Elves to do every menial task, and decided it would be safer to keep the cooking to himself. “Doesn't matter,” he said briefly. “I'd teach you, but I don't know much myself.”  
  
He was freaked out when he came home one evening to find Draco poring over a recipe book in the kitchen, flour on every possible surface (and Ron hadn't even realised there was flour in the house) and Malfoy's expression fraught.  
  
“What the...” Ron stopped as Malfoy jumped six inches in the air in shock. “Um, hello,” he said instead. “Having fun?”  
  
“It's supposed to rise. Or something.” Draco put floury hands to his head, giving himself an even more ghost-like appearance. “God, Ron, I can't even make bread.”  
  
“We've got some in the cupboard,” Ron pointed out. “What were you doing?”  
  
“I'll clear up,” Malfoy said anxiously. “I was just...” He shrugged. “Doesn't matter. I'll clear up,” he said again.  
  
Ron was not wildly surprised to be woken that night. Draco was crying in his sleep, sobbing like a child. When Ron went over, Draco's arms were around him almost before he was sitting beside him.  
  
“It's all right,” Ron said, holding Draco close. (It was weird how natural it had become to hug Draco Malfoy.) “It's all right.”  
  
Draco's cheeks were stained with tears, and he was shivering uncontrollably. “Oh God,” he whispered. “Oh God, Ron, please don't leave me.”  
  
It was the first time that Draco had ever said his name in the night, and Ron found it strangely touching. “I'm not going anywhere,” he said awkwardly. “Nothing to worry about.”  
  
Draco was still clinging, and it had happened before Ron really realised what was going on. He'd bent down towards Draco and kissed him. It wasn't a snog-kiss, not a romantic thing: just for comfort, because Malfoy seemed so vulnerable, but still Ron was horrified when he realised what he'd done.  
  
“God,” he said nervously, “sorry. I didn't...”  
  
He never got to finish the sentence. Draco's mouth was on his, and unless Ron was very much mistaken, it was definitely **not** a comforting kiss but a pretty major come-on. And there was something that was much too appealing about Draco's warm, encouraging, mouth against his; Draco's tongue exploring his mouth with tentative interest. There was something in Ron's head suggesting that this wasn't a good idea, but Ron had discovered an extremely useful knack of ignoring that voice and continuing what he was doing. The voice spoke a little louder when Draco slipped off the bed to kneel between Ron's legs and pull his pyjamas down; loudly enough, in fact, that Ron made a small noise of rejection, which made Draco look up at him.  
  
“Please,” Draco murmured. “Please. I need this.”  
  
Ron really, **really** ought to have been listening to that voice, but somehow he wasn't as he looked down at the shadowy figure of Draco, his blond hair falling around his face, his mouth open wide to engulf Ron's cock. Ron reached down to push Draco's hair back a little, and felt his prick delve deeper into Draco's mouth as he did so. And it... it felt more than good, it felt fucking **excellent** , and granted Ron didn't precisely have stackloads of experience, but he was pretty sure that it couldn't possibly get much better than this or people would die. Which would be a good way to go, and everything, but...  
  
Ron stopped thinking.  
  
Ron stopped thinking, because Draco was doing some swirling thing with his tongue and there was really nothing left for Ron's brain because all of his self, all of his awareness, had slipped down into his cock, and oh bloody hell, he was vaguely aware of making incredibly unerotic grunting noises, but frankly he didn't care and anyway, just so long as Draco went on... oh god, **there**.  
  
Ron almost choked on a long, drawn out groan as he came.  
  
And then it was over, and Ron began to get coherent thought back, and the fact was that he'd just had Malfoy kneeling at his feet sucking him off. It had been weird between them before, and Ron really didn't want to think about how much weirder it was going to be now. And yet, despite that, he heard himself speak.  
  
“Come to bed. I mean – you might not have nightmares if you...” He stopped, wondering whether sex had addled his brain or something, because he was just suggesting that Draco might want to sleep (and yes, that was literally it, nothing more) in his bed with him.  
  
“Okay.” And Draco sounded awkward now, as if he was just realising what had been going on, and that five minutes ago he'd been kneeling between Ron's legs...  
  
“Come to bed,” said Ron abruptly, again, and cast a cleaning spell before they curled up under his duvet together.  
  
***  
  
They didn't really talk about it in the morning. It had happened, and that was fine, and it didn't mean anything. It had just been one of those... things... that happened when it was the middle of the night and people weren't thinking straight. It was nothing, an aberration, a one-off. Ron and Draco went back to their usual abnormal situation. Draco stayed at home, and tried to do domestic things and did them very badly. Ron went to work and came back and Draco was there, because that's how it was now. Draco was _there_ , and it almost didn't seem odd any more.  
  
There were four peaceful nights after _it_ , when Draco didn't have nightmares at all – the longest period he'd been without them in the time he'd been staying. He'd got the hang of cooking a bit better, too, and Ron was actually rather impressed with his roast dinner: it had been pleasant as well as edible, which was a great improvement on what had come before, when Ron had tried to look as if he was enjoying over-cooked pasta with peculiar black flecks through it.  
  
“Hey, you're definitely getting better,” he said as he crunched down on an only slightly undercooked carrot.  
  
Draco gave a half-hearted grimace. “Was it that bad before?”  
  
“Er...” Not for the first time, Ron wished he was better at polite lies. “Well, er... Well, you're good at roasts.”  
  
“It **was** that bad before.”  
  
“Shut up and eat your dinner before it gets cold.” And that had to be the first time Ron had ever sounded like his mother.  
  
Draco had a nightmare that night, and Ron dragged himself up from sleep, wishing that he hadn't drunk quite so much wine with the roast.  
  
“You're all right,” he slurred drowsily, hugging Draco.  
  
“Can I...” Draco's voice was almost timid. “Can I come in with you?”  
  
“Yeah, all right.” And no, Ron was **not** made happy by the request, because that would be just wrong. He merely didn't want to be woken again by Draco, that was all.  
  
And when it became normal for them to share a bed, there was nothing peculiar in it at all. Draco didn't have nightmares when he was sleeping cuddled up to Ron, and that meant that they both got considerably better nights, and so it was just sensible. There was nothing... dodgy... in it. It was because it was a good solution to the problem, and it worked. Nothing else.  
  
***  
  
“So, can I stay, mate?” Harry asked. “It's just that with your parents staying, the other option is being in close quarters with a very smelly Goyle and... well, to be honest, I'd rather avoid it.”  
  
“Yeah, course you can,” Ron said. “Plenty of room for a friend.”  
  
“I mean, your bed's nearly double sized, and I don't take up too much room. We've done it before,” Harry said persuasively.  
  
Ron froze.  
  
It was, of course, perfectly normal and reasonable for him to be sharing a bed with Draco Malfoy in order that Draco didn't have nightmares, but somehow it was something that had never quite come up in conversation with Harry. Not because there was any particular reason, but he'd just never mentioned it.  
  
“Erm, you can sleep in the pull out bed,” he said.  
  
Harry grinned. “Look, I know you don't much like living in close quarters with Malfoy, but there's no need to throw him out of his bed. I mean, it'd probably be good for him to sleep on the floor for a change, but it's not necessary.”  
  
Ron coughed. “Yeah, well...”  
  
“I promise not to make a move on you in the night. I'm living with Ginny, after all – I wouldn't dare, even if I was tempted. Which I'm not.”  
  
It's not that, it's just...” But they had reached their office, and Kingsley was waiting for them. “Look, we'll discuss it later, okay?”  
  
Sadly, by 'later' Ron had still not found a way of explaining the extremely not-weird situation.  
  
“Well, it doesn't matter,” Harry said. “We'll sort out details later. But as long as I can come, yeah?”  
  
He was standing in the queue for the floo, Ron behind him.  
  
“Course you can,” Ron said; then, as Harry stepped forward, “but Malfoy shares with me, so there's no problem there.”  
  
His last sight of Harry was of an expression of absolute disbelief. Thinking about it as he walked forward into the floo, Ron suspected that possibly he had not handled this as well as he might have done...  
  
Next day he was sure of it. He'd only just got in when Harry jumped on him.  
  
“You're sharing a bed with _Draco Malfoy_?!?”  
  
“He has nightmares.” Somehow it sounded a bit pathetic as a reason when he was explaining it to Harry. At home, it seemed – well, right – but with Harry giving Ron that look, it felt a bit different.  
  
“You sleep with Draco Malfoy because he has bad dreams?”  
  
Ron wished Harry wouldn't keep saying 'Draco Malfoy' in that tone of voice. It was off-putting. “Look, I had to keep getting up in the night, okay, and now I don't. I'm not **sleeping** with him, I'm just sharing a bed.” Ron shut down memories of the blow job, of the times he'd woken to find Draco curled around him, one hand snuggled inside his pyjama bottoms, fingers curled neatly around his cock. It wasn't like that, it was just... how stuff was.  
  
“Ri-ight.”  
  
“Look,” Ron said abruptly, “you can come and stay if you want, and that's what you asked, so just shut up, okay?”  
  
“Yeah, whatever,” said Harry; and Ron looked at his friend's face, lips bitten tightly together as if he was physically trying to prevent himself from saying anything further, and groaned inwardly.  
  
Draco, on the whole, took it a lot better than Harry had.  
  
“My parents are going to stay at Harry and Ginny's place, and Ginny can sleep on the floor in the same room, but Harry reckoned it'd be a bit much to share a room with someone else's parents - and Goyle's father...” Ron stopped abruptly as he remembered that Draco and Goyle had been friends.  
  
“I stayed with them once,” Draco acknowledged. “I'd probably not want to share a room with Mr. Goyle, either.”  
  
“Yeah, so I said Harry could crash here for a bit until Mum and Dad had gone.” Draco became absolutely still, and Ron was reminded of what it had been like when he first arrived at the flat, his fear imperfectly concealed. “You don't mind, do you?” Ron asked doubtfully.  
  
“No.” Draco's voice was very quiet.  
  
“He doesn't bite or anything. Least, not often, especially now he's living with Gin. She'd train him out of it.”  
  
“Shall I... Do you want me to...” Draco swallowed, and went on, “I'll sleep on the sofa, if you...”  
  
“Course not, you idiot,” said Ron. “I've told Harry he can have the other bed.”  
  
Draco said nothing more then, but as Ron was drifting off to sleep, he heard a muffled word from Draco.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
***  
  
It was – it was just **odd** having Harry staying, and that itself added another layer of weirdness. Harry was Ron's best mate, despite the spats they'd had in the past (maybe **because** even those rows had failed to stuff up their friendship) but when they Apparated home after work, it had got ever more stilted between them.  
  
“It's us,” Ron had yelled as they arrived, and Draco had appeared and done his best not to scowl at Harry – though Ron had to admit that as unconvincing smiles went, Draco's was right up there. Harry, however, hadn't even bothered to attempt that much. Ron had been aware of his eyes flicking between Ron and Draco suspiciously. Ron had done his best to dispell the tension, opening a bottle of wine to go with Draco's really quite acceptable chicken casserole.  
  
“You know, you're definitely improving,” Ron said as he poured red wine for everyone.  
  
Draco gave a half-hearted smile. “Considering my earlier efforts, it's not difficult.”  
  
Ron felt Harry looking at him again and changed the subject. “So, how are the parents, Harry?” he asked briskly. “Mum okay?”  
  
“Yes, fine.” Harry was forking mouthfuls of potato and chicken into his mouth with an air of someone who suspected that Draco had poisoned the food.  
  
Ron tried again. “Dad? Did you have any Muggle gadgets to impress him with?”  
  
“He was entertained by the electric toothbrush Gin and I have.” Harry glanced around. “I suppose you **wouldn't** have much in the way of Muggle stuff here.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Harry's eyes rested on Draco for a second before focussing back on Ron. “No reason, I guess.”  
  
“Well, we haven't, really,” Ron admitted grudgingly. “Apart from the cooking stuff. I don't really get a chance to look at Muggle stuff much. Seems a bit pointless, really, when you're a wizard. I always did think Dad was a bit mad.”  
  
“I'll bet.” Harry fell silent again.  
  
Draco went to bed at an unnaturally early hour and Ron, fed up with the sticky atmosphere, turned on Harry.  
  
“What's wrong with you?” he demanded.  
  
“Oh, I can't imagine,” Harry returned. “You're sharing a bloody bed with Malfoy and I'm supposed to be okay about it? I thought we got these Death Eaters - _Death Eaters_ , remember? - put with us so that we could stop them trying to kill us, rather than so we could start fucking them.”  
  
Ron put his glass down so quickly that some of the wine slopped out over the table. “Get out,” he said quietly.  
  
“What?”  
  
Ron was on his feet. “This is my flat, 'remember?' Even if I were fucking Draco – which I'm not, by the way – it would be none of your business. I've spent all evening putting up with you giving him the evils, because – yeah, fine, you have reason not to like him – but I'm supposed to be your mate, 'remember?' And I've had enough of you slagging me off, all right?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Fine. If you feel like that. I'm sure Gin'll be thrilled to hear all about your _living arrangements_.”  
  
“You know what?” Ron had intended to keep his voice low, but despite himself it was getting louder. “It's none of her business, either. You trot home and tell tales on me if you want, but it's you that's got the problem. Just get over yourself, Harry.”  
  
Harry didn't reply, just Disapparated. Ron stared at the space where Harry had just been, then sat down again and drank the rest of his wine moodily.  
  
It was late when Ron went to bed, but Draco was awake. He wriggled over silently to give Ron space.  
  
“Thanks,” muttered Ron.  
  
Draco said nothing, asked no questions. But when Ron woke briefly in the night Draco was lying on his back, grey eyes looking unseeingly at the ceiling. He said nothing in the morning, either, as Ron showered and got ready for work, and Ron was grateful. It was evident that Harry wasn't there, but he really didn't want to discuss it – particularly with Draco, in the circumstances. Work was about as comfortable as Ron had imagined it would be: Harry was giving him the cold shoulder, which was frankly better than any attempted conversation would have been, and the rest of the Department were pointedly **not** asking what the problem was. Ron didn't think he'd ever been so glad to see the end of a working day, not even when he'd been directed to deal with excessively excreting gnomes.  
  
Draco went to bed early for the second night running, and when Ron, bored of his own company, strode into the bedroom, it was to find Draco curled up on the pull-out bed, apparently asleep. Ron glanced closely at him, but Draco's eyes remained shut, and although Ron had his doubts as to the authenticity of his slumber, he thought it wiser not to object. Shrugging out of his clothes, he lay down in the strangely empty-feeling bed, and lay for a long time before he finally fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
Harry met him in the entrance hall of the Ministry the next morning, looking tired and embarrassed.  
  
“Look, I was out of order the other day.”  
  
“Yes, you were,” said Ron shortly.  
  
Harry ran a hand through his hair until it was sticking up even more dramatically than usual. “Yeah. I'm sorry about that. It – it just took me a bit by surprise, you and Malfoy being all pally and whatever. I didn't realise...” Harry's hand was back in his hair again. “Well, anyway, no one would be friendly with Goyle's Dad, and I suppose I just thought you were in the same boat as me.”  
  
“I didn't exactly **ask** to get Draco Malfoy,” Ron pointed out.  
  
“I know. I know. I’ve been up half the night with Ginny yelling at me. She says I'm an idiot, and she's right.”  
  
“Yes.” Ron gave Harry a quick shove. “You're a total idiot, so get over it and let's get to work.”  
  
***  
  
Draco ended up back in Ron’s bed after Ron told him that it had been a misunderstanding between him and Harry. Ron wasn’t sure how much of what he said Draco believed, but he wasn’t going to rock the boat by asking. The bed had seemed weirdly large for just him, and although he told himself that it was to stop Draco waking him up with his nightmares, Ron knew that there was more to it than that. But with his friendship with Harry newly mended, and with Draco basically his prisoner, it was beside the point. Draco didn’t have nightmares in Ron’s bed. Ron got a decent night, Draco got a decent night. That was all.  
  
***  
  
It was a month later, and they’d begun to get back to a normal sort of routine. Draco was becoming almost unnervingly domesticated, not only cooking but washing Ron’s clothes and generally tidying the house. Ron found himself looking forward to going home, rather than dreading another night stuck with an antipathetic character. He and Draco were… well, almost _friends_.  
  
It was at 9.30am that morning when the notelet flew down onto Ron's desk - just as he was wondering whether it would be a better idea to follow up an alleged troll sighting by an elderly witch who seemed to spend all her days seeing Dark Creatures in the streets of Oxford, or whether he could consign it straight to the waste paper bin and claim that he'd checked it and it was a false alarm. Having the details dive-bombed by a note from within the Ministry helped him make up his mind, and he dropped it firmly into the bin before opening the letter. It was short and to the point.  
  
 _The Ministry requests you attend an Auror meeting at 2pm this afternoon in Meeting Room Five, in order to discuss matters of National Security._  
  
Ron rolled his eyes at this. The last time he'd got a message telling him about an urgent meeting, it had turned out to be a disagreement on the visibility of torches and whether it was breaching the misuse of magic act if wizards and witches used wandlight when out on missions. National Security would probably turn out to be about as exciting as Percy's cauldron bottom reports. Still, when the time came, he went up to the meeting room with a vague sense of interest. It would at any rate beat talking to batty old men about the vampires in their closets, or the young woman who seemed to have a new problem every week and to think that Ron was the only person she could talk to. He'd expected there to be a crowd, as for the wandlight discussion, but when he went in there was only one other person there. Auror Mungo.  
  
Ron hadn't actually had to put any effort into avoiding Mungo since he'd been 'assigned' Draco Malfoy, since the Aurors were very rarely on the premises anyway. But he couldn't actually say that the sight of the man improved his day.  
  
“What do you want?” he demanded.  
  
Mungo smiled. “Welcome in, Mr. Weasley. We're just catching up with a little bit of paperwork, and so I have a few questions to ask you about your house guest.”  
  
'House guest'. That was a new way of describing it. Ron looked up. “Well?”  
  
The Auror shuffled papers on his clipboard, and finally produced one specific form. “We are looking into the situation of the ex-supporters of Lord Voldemort. Trying to understand where they've got to in the process of their rehabilitation, and whether they're ready for release. So, about Draco Malfoy. Is he causing any trouble? Any problems that you'd like to report?”  
  
Something jarred Ron in Mungo's use of the word 'rehabilitation'. He couldn't help remembering the first conversation he'd had, when he'd been assigned Draco. _”You want to starve him in a dungeon, you can do that if you want.”_ The Ministry hadn't been interested in finding out what Draco was like, they'd just wanted to get rid of him anyhow they could. So it was in irritation that he replied.  
  
“Malfoy's all right,” he said shortly.  
  
“No signs of violence? Would you say he's a danger to wizardkind?”  
  
“For God's sake, no! He's...” Ron struggled for the right words. “He's fine.”  
  
The Auror ticked a few boxes, looked further through his paperwork and made some more queries. “You're sure you're not saying this just to get rid of him? Remember, you'll be held partly responsible for any crimes he commits over the next five years. If you've got any reason to suspect him of nefarious behaviour, it is your responsibility to inform us of it now.”  
  
“I told you,” Ron gritted, “he's **fine**.”  
  
The Auror shrugged. “All right. The paperwork's all completed. If you just sign here” - he indicated a line, and Ron scrawled his name across. “Thank you. You give this copy to Mr. Malfoy, and he's free to go. Once more, let the Ministry express our thanks for your cooperation in this scheme.”  
  
Ron gave a grunt which could have signified acceptance or displeasure, and as he left the room he glanced down at the paper. So, it looked as if Draco was certified a decent citizen thanks mostly to his (Ron's) character statement. He gave another grunt at the irony: one thing he'd never thought he'd do was defend Draco Malfoy against the Ministry of Magic. Still, there had been quite a few things happening in the time Draco had been staying with him that Ron had not anticipated. What was one more?  
  
At the end of the working day, he Apparated home. Draco was bent over a sheet of paper, pencil in hand and a look of concentration on his face. When he saw Ron, he gathered it up hastily.  
  
“What's that?” asked Ron curiously.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Typical, thought Ron, that Draco waited until he'd just declared him a good guy before starting to act shiftily. “Draco, if you're up to something...”  
  
“I'm not.”  
  
“I spent about an hour today telling the Ministry you'd stopped doing dodgy things.”  
  
Draco looked up, a expression of surprise and almost embarrassed gratitude on his face. “Thanks.”  
  
“And then I come home and you're scribbling away and hiding things. What is it? It can't be that awful.”  
  
There was a pinkness in Draco's cheeks as, reluctantly, he put the paper back on the table. Ron, bending to look at it, gave a gasp of surprise. It was a picture, and it was very well drawn, as far as it was done. More importantly, though, it was a picture of Ron himself. Draco couldn't meet his eyes when he looked up from it.  
  
“You... I never knew you could draw,” Ron said stupidly.  
  
“I can't. I was just...” Draco shrugged apologetically. “It's just something to do when you're out.”  
  
Out. Ron realised he hadn't told him the good news yet. “Oh, shit, I've got something for you.” He dug into the pocket of his robes and brought out the somewhat crumpled bit of paper. “Here, look, you're off the hook.”  
  
“I'm...” Draco smoothed the document out and read through it. Ron was surprised to see a slight frown on his face.  
  
“It's your freedom, Draco. If you go up to the Ministry, they'll give you your wand back, too.” Ron stopped. “Aren't you pleased?”  
  
Draco looked up, uncreasing his forehead. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes. It was just a bit of a shock.”  
  
“I mean,” Ron went on, “you can go anywhere. I think they've still confiscated Malfoy Manor, but you can – you know, get a job and get out of the house and whatnot.”  
  
“Yes,” said Draco again.  
  
It was Ron's turn to frown. He'd expected Draco to be over the moon, yet all the other man did was to stare down at the paper and look bewildered. Surely this wasn't an obvious response?  
  
“What's up?”  
  
“Nothing.” Draco pointed at part of the writing. “You... it says you can be held responsible for anything I do in the next five years.”  
  
“Yeah, that's there so that I didn't just say you were fine so I'd get rid of you,” Ron explained easily. :But you're not intending to start a riot or anything, are you?”  
  
“No. No, of course not.” Draco hesitated. “Um... do you... should I go out right now?”  
  
“I thought you'd **want** to go for a walk or something,” Ron said. “I mean, you've been stuck in here for months. Oh!” Ron saw the light. “Are you – you know, nervous about going outside? I'll come with you if you want.”  
  
“I meant – do you want me to leave for good now?” Draco's tone was subdued.  
  
“Oh.” Ron looked blank. Somehow it had never occurred to him that with this decree Draco wouldn't be living here any more. And... and the weird thing was, Ron didn't want him to leave. “No, no, you can stay while you sort yourself out, of course. I'm not about to chuck you out on the street.”  
  
“I probably deserve it,” Draco muttered grimly. “I mean, it's not as if you asked to have me here in the first place.”  
  
“Just shows you can get used to anything,” Ron said, embarrassed. It was true: he hadn't wanted Draco Malfoy living in his flat, but it was different now. He was – he **liked** having him there. They were... Ron felt his ears going hot as a sudden realisation came to him. Damn it all, if he wasn't in love with Draco Malfoy. God, Harry'd have a field day if he knew. They'd mended the rift, but it was still a little bit awkward between them, especially on the subject of Draco. “Look, shall we go for that walk?”  
  
Draco nodded, and Ron opened the door. Draco stood for a moment in the doorway, looking down at the London street.  
  
“It's funny,” he said. “I heard all this noise going on outside, but I never really looked. I couldn't imagine going out of here, so I just...” He stopped. “Anyway, it doesn't matter.”  
  
“Come on,” said Ron. “Let's buy a decent bottle of wine and toast your freedom.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Ron noticed that Draco stayed quite close to his side. He wasn't sure what he'd expected – maybe that Malfoy would go back to being the irritating guy he couldn't stand, now that he was free. After all, Malfoy arrogance was surely too deep set just to vanish. But Draco seemed nervous; more downbeat still than Ron would've expected. When they got home, and Ron had opened the wine and they'd drunk the first glass, Draco opened out a bit.  
  
“Ron,” he said quietly. “What do you think people will do?”  
  
“Do?” Ron was puzzled. “What d'you mean, 'do'?”  
  
“I'm a Death Eater – ex-Death Eater, anyway. It's not like people are going to be pleased to see me around, is it?”  
  
“You mean – you reckon they'll attack you or something? Come off it, Draco, we're not...” Ron stopped suddenly.  
  
“Not Death Eaters,” Draco finished ironically. “No.”  
  
He gulped down a bit more drink, and there was silence for a while. Ron re-filled their glasses for the second time.  
  
“Um… What’re you going to do about the nightmares?” he asked awkwardly. “You know, when…” It was the first time the dreams had been mentioned outside the small hours of the night. Draco flushed red, and couldn’t meet Ron’s eye. Ron, thinking about it, was quite grateful for that: it saved him from avoiding Draco’s gaze. “Sorry,” he said. “None of my business and all that.”  
  
“You’re right.” Draco nodded, gazing into his wine. “I need to get used to sleeping alone. Most people manage, after all. I’ll take the pull-out tonight.”  
  
“You don’t have to!” Ron, realising suddenly the preciousness of the few nights he’d have with Draco before he left, wished (not for the first time in his life) that he’d kept his mouth shut.  
  
“No, I know.” Draco gave a small smile. “It’s okay. I want to.”  
  
And that, Ron thought, served him right for mentioning it. Idiot that he was. Of course Draco didn’t want to spend the rest of his life tucked up in Ron’s bed like a hot water bottle. He was a Malfoy, after all, and Ron was one of the despised Weasleys. Draco had had to put up with him when he had no other options, but now… Well, it had all changed now, hadn’t it?  
  
“Yeah,” he said.  
  
It was soon after that that Ron decided to go to bed.  
  
*  
  
Ron woke briefly when Draco came into the room, and turned over to face the wall when it became clear that Draco had meant what he said. Draco hadn’t even glanced in Ron’s direction as he pulled out the small bed and curled up on it. Ron had told himself that he didn’t care, that he was better off without Malfoy, and had fallen asleep once more.  
  
Until 3am.  
  
Until 3am, when Draco’s nightmares (which had entirely vanished during the months they’d been sharing a bed) started up again… with a vengeance. Ron woke to impassioned sobbing, and, lighting his wand, looked over to see Draco jerking as if he were being tortured.  
  
“No, no, please….” Draco’s words disintegrated into a long, piercing scream, and Ron leapt out of bed.  
  
As did Draco.  
  
By the time Ron had crossed the room, Draco was kneeling on the floor, clutching his covers and begging incoherently for a mercy that was clearly not forthcoming, judging from the screaming and thrashing about emanating from Ron’s room-mate. Ron’s arms were around Draco in a flash, his head bent to his ear.  
  
“Draco, Draco, it’s me. It’s Ron. It’s just a dream.” And when this didn’t work, “DRACO!”  
  
Draco jolted one final time and opened his eyes, looking at Ron as the tears that had gathered in his eyes dripped down his face.  
  
“Dead. You’re dead,” he muttered.  
  
“Not yet,” Ron responded firmly. “Not even asleep, thanks to you, mate.”  
  
“Ron.” It was the first time since… well, **since** the first time; but Draco was clearly in need of further reassurance, and he grabbed Ron’s head, bringing it closer and kissing it passionately. “Ron,” he murmured.  
  
“Me,” Ron agreed, pulling Draco clumsily over so that the other man was half-lying across his lap. “Definitely me.”  
  
“They were… he was – killing you,” Draco cried.  
  
“You and your bloody nightmares, eh?”  
  
“Oh God, Ron, he was killing you, and I love you and…”  
  
“WHAT?”  
  
Ron hadn’t meant to shout, but it had come out without him intending it. Draco blinked up at him, catching his breath hastily.  
  
“Nothing. I… nothing, I didn’t mean it, I promise, I just…”  
  
“I’m only a Weasley, after all,” said Ron, unable to prevent a note of bitterness in his tone. Gently, he slid Draco onto the floor and stood up. “Well, it was just a dream, Draco. Nothing to worry about.”  
  
“I’m a Death Eater,” Draco whispered.  
  
“Not much point in that now Voldemort’s dead, is there?” said Ron coldly.  
  
Draco laid his head down on his bed. “I **was** a Death Eater,” he said, his fingers clutching at the bedsheet. “They’ll kill me. They’ll kill anyone I care about.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Anyone. Everyone.”  
  
Ron stalked back to his own bed and sat on the side of it. “If you mean us, it may surprise you to know that we don’t go around murdering people for the fun of it. We left that to your lot.”  
  
Draco nodded. “Yes,” he said drearily. “My lot. My lot and your lot, and my lot – thank God – lost. Different lots. Different people.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And nothing.” Draco clambered into his bed. “Nothing.”  
  
They went back to sleep.  
  
An hour later, Ron was woken again. Draco was bolt upright in bed this time, his eyes wide open despite the fact he was clearly asleep.  
  
“No! Not Ron! Please. Not Ron. Kill me!”  
  
Ron found he was holding his breath. Had Draco – all right, it was a dream and everything, but… had Draco really just asked to be killed in his place? Because that was… that was…  
  
“I’ll do anything!” Draco’s voice was squeaky with fear. “Anything. Please! Please, no. I love him, please!”  
  
This time Ron found himself walking slowly towards the other man, almost as if he was hypnotised. A long, high-pitched scream from Draco speeded up his responses, however.  
  
“Draco!” he said urgently, shaking him with all of his strength. “Draco!”  
  
“Ron.” It was a sigh. “Ron. I… I love you. I’m sorry.”  
  
Ron gathered him up in his arms, his ears going hot at the words.  
  
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said gruffly. “I love you too.”

* * *  
  
---


End file.
